


Savathun's Aftermath

by Littleshebear



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 02:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleshebear/pseuds/Littleshebear
Summary: Hawthorne comforts Zavala over the losses they suffered leading up to the Savathun's Song strike.





	Savathun's Aftermath

Suraya lay in bed. Not her bed, Zavala’s. She stared at the ceiling, counting the seconds tick by. They were supposed to have dinner tonight, she’d told him she’d cook but she’d had such plans to rope him into it. She’d been so determined to teach him how to cut a Traveler-damn onion. It would have been fun. She was able to visualise him blundering around the kitchen so clearly; He’d try hard, of course he would but he’d eventually defer to her expertise, chuckling softly in that self-deprecating way of his.

The anticipation had been dashed by a message from him about an hour before she’d been due to come over. “I’ve been called away. Don’t worry, everything’s fine. Don’t wait up. I’m sorry.” The more time that went by, the less “fine” she suspected things were. She turned on her side and screwed her eyes shut. The more she tried to sleep, the more aware she became of her own heartbeat, more aware of the sounds of the City outside. She’d changed into a light cotton shirt to sleep in but it clung to her, cold and sodden with sweat.

She looked at the clock after her latest attempt to sleep: 03:12. She rolled over onto her back and closed her eyes. Maybe sleep would come and when she awoke, he’d be beside her and everything actually would be fine.

Suraya exhaled sharply and threw off the covers. It wasn’t happening. She pulled her damp shirt off over her head and dressed properly. She finally pulled on her poncho and headed out the door. She made her way through the City, resisting the urge to jog, then to run. She settled on an uncomfortable power walk, her ankles and shins burning by the time she reached her destination.

She reached the corridor leading to the new command centre. A good-natured Frame blocked her path, asking for authorisation. She pressed her palm to its face and pushed it out of the way, saying, “Suraya Hawthorne, Civilian and Clan Liason, take it up with the Commander.” If the Frame had an objection, it obviously didn’t know how to word it as Suraya barged her way past.

She halted in the doorway, taking in the scene before her. Zavala sat, alone at the table, eyes closed, his hands clasped together, pressed against his forehead as if in prayer. He was silent for a moment before he spoke.

“Was there anything left?”

A woman’s voice came in over the comm. Suraya wondered if it was Sloane, the deputy Commander Zavala often spoke highly of. Suraya was eager to meet her. “We recovered some Ghost shells from the crystals. Other than that…No. No bodies.”

Zavala sighed and pressed his thumbs against his eyes, rubbing his tear ducts against the bridge of his nose. “Have them sent to the City. We’ll bury them at the Wall. Full honours.”

“Yes sir. Anything else?” The voice on the comm sounded impassive at first listen but Suraya fancied there was a strained quality to it.

“Give my commendations to fireteam Caliban. And get some rest. All of you, you’ve earned it. “

“Yes Sir. Thank you Sir. Sloane out.”

Zavala sat in silence after Sloane ended the communication, his hands still clasped together in front of his face.

“Are you going to follow your own advice, Commander?” Suraya said after an uncomfortable silence. She swallowed back a lump in her throat. She wasn’t used to seeing him like this, not even during the Red War.

He dropped his hands from his face at the sound of her voice, a look of dismay on his face. “I told you not to wait up.”

“And you told me everything was fine.” She pressed her lips into a thin line before adding, “Guess we’re even then?”

Zavala’s gaze dropped to the table, where his hands, still pressed together, were resting. “I was hoping for a different outcome,” he said, looking tired and ashamed.

“How many did we lose?” She crossed over to him, slowly, as though he were an animal she didn’t want to spook. She wondered at her wording; “We.” Since when did she think of herself as of a part with Guardians? Probably since she’d saved this man’s life and he’d wished her luck, calling her ”Guardian.” She’d felt giddy at the time but now she felt nothing but heartache for him.

“Nine,” he said, in a tiny voice. “It doesn’t sound a lot but we lost so many in the Red-”

He was interrupted as she rapidly closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. She then pressed one hand to his cheek and pulled his face against her chest. “Come home.” He said nothing in response. “Please.”

“I need to-”

“Come home. Let me take care of you. For once.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Please. You did everything you could. Don’t punish yourself.” She felt him relax into her embrace, and she allowed herself a relieved sigh. She pulled away, just far enough to frame his face with her hands. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.I couldn’t make you dinner, but I’m going to make you brunch.”

“Suraya…” She could hear the protest in his voice but she headed it off.

“Don’t fence with me on this.” She held his gaze with her own, implacable, resolute. “You’re going to have someone cover your morning shift, you’re going to get a decent sleep, understand? You need to rest.” She felt that lump rising in her throat again, and blinked furiously to disguise its presence. “You always tell your Guardians to rest. It’s time you did the same and Traveler help me, I’m going to make sure you do. If only for one night.”

“One condition?” Zavala looked up at her, luminous, sad eyes meeting hers.

“Name it.” She replied.

“Let me help cook.”

She gave in to an outbreak of emotion, something between relieved laughter and tears. She pressed her forehead against his, until she composed herself. “It’s not going to be complicated. Scrambled eggs? Chopping a few mushrooms?”

“That’s complicated enough for me.”

Suraya nodded then clasped her hands in his, pulling him to his feet. “Deal. Come on.”

The exited the the command centre, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. That Frame asked if this angry woman really did have clearance, “She does,” assured Zavala. They reached his (their?) quarters and she overheard some tooing and froing between his and Ikora’s ghost. He wouldn’t be expected to show himself until at least ten am. That constituted a veritable luxurious lie-in for him.

Once they were inside, she helped him with his armour. She knew every clip, knot and strap by now. Such an undressing was usually more frenetic, she normally saw it as an obstacle but tonight its removal was slow and tender, an act of intimacy and no less passionate for its relative leisure.

She dragged him into his, no, their, definitely their bed and he tucked his head under her chin without any protest. He mumbled a “thank you,” against her chest and immediately began to doze.

Suraya slipped one leg between his as she cradled him against her chest. “I love you,” She whispered before adding, “I’m proud of you,” but only after she was sure he was asleep.

“I know.” He mumbled

Not asleep after all. Damn him. They remained that way, limbs entwined until Zavala’s Ghost awakened them, in the morning, in time to make the perfect brunch.


End file.
